


let it be a fairy tale then

by NotPersephone



Series: Count and Countess Lecter [45]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Change of Seasons, Domestic Bliss, F/M, Family Fluff, Misha Feels, Picnic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:22:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27013447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotPersephone/pseuds/NotPersephone
Summary: The Lecter family marks the end of summer with a picnic and Hannibal contemplates his past.
Relationships: Bedelia Du Maurier/Hannibal Lecter
Series: Count and Countess Lecter [45]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/884424
Comments: 8
Kudos: 33





	let it be a fairy tale then

It is the most appetizing of puzzle boxes: neat stack of multi-coloured macaroons, even squares of tiny sandwiches with equally colourful fillings surrounded by boxes of fruit slices, last berries of the summer and first apples of the autumn coming together in a medley of juicy reds, all carefully placed within the checkered cloth of a large basket.

“Is that everything?” Hannibal asks, his nimble fingers moving the abundance of treats into the most efficient arrangement, smiling eyes moving to the tiny figure perched on the highchair and leaning over the basket.

“Yes, it is,” the resolute eyes assess his work with a furrow of her small brow, an expression Hannibal knows all too well, presented now in miniature form.

“I am glad,” he makes sure all the items are secure in their spot, wanting to prevent any undesirable mingling of flavours, “Are we ready to go then?”

His daughter grows even more pensive, deliberating upon anything that could be missing from her carefully planned excursion. The picnic to mark the change of seasons has been eagerly anticipated, and Hannibal knows it needs to be nothing short of perfect. The severity of her contemplation is in direct contrast to her appearance, magenta overalls and t-shirt embellished with mermaids, two ponytails topping the ensemble, with a finishing touch of a tiny braid added on the side. Hannibal smiles recognising Bedelia’s careful handiwork. With hands gripping the edge of the basket, Mira once again appraises its contents, making sure no delicacy was omitted. Hannibal does not rush her, his heart taking notes on every gesture she makes, constantly infatuated.

“Yes, we should go,” she successfully concludes her survey and fumbles on the chair, scrutiny giving way to her boundless excitement, “Mama is waiting for us.”

His smile widening, Hannibal closes the amply packed basket and fastens the lid; that is the ultimate reason to leave immediately as far as he is concerned. He watches as his daughter grips the side of the chair and tries to infer the best way down. With a sudden pang of concern for her descent, he abandons the basket and steps forward, lifting her without effort and placing her safely on the floor. Mira smiles, pleased with her feet securely on the ground once more and Hannibal feels a jolt in his heart; he knows she will soon deny his assistance, her independence growing each day. He reaches for the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt, all ready to return it to its pristine length but another crease of his daughter’s brow halts his intentions.

“Is something the matter?” he asks with his hand still hovering over his forearm.

“You should leave it like that,” she responds with confidence of a seasoned fashion expert, “It is nicer.”

“Do you think I look better this way?” Hannibal presses on, endlessly intrigued by her daughter’s mind.

“Mama does,” Mira replies shortly as if stating the most obvious of facts.

Yet another reason that needs no arguments, Hannibal’s hand moves away from the fabric at once, his heart giving another joyous thud at how perceptive she is.

“We should not keep her waiting any longer then,” he reaches back to the counter. A tiny blue punnet has been standing there patiently, almost lost next to the imposing large one, awaiting its owner. Hannibal takes the small basket and gives it to Mira; he ensured her he will look after the food, but she insisted on helping, an offer he could not deny. She grabs it now with all seriousness and marches out of the kitchen in slow strides as if she were carrying the entire picnic. But that burden rests on Hannibal. He takes the large basket, heavy even in his grip, internally commiserating with his ride as he follows his daughter.

Mira’s excited steps patter loudly on the stone floors, the sound reverberating against the high walls as the castle joins in on her elation. The front doors are wide open, inviting the rays of sun to reach inside and the warm breeze to explore the grand hall. Mira does not pause as her objective comes into view but quickens her pace, skipping happily down the front steps. Hannibal walks closely behind her, ready to catch her if needed, but she is soon safely on her last stretch of gravelled driveway, smiling widely at the woman waiting at its end. Hannibal smiles as well, his eyes widening with pleasure at the sight of his wife standing in between two horses. She is dressed appropriately for the occasion, white shirt, and black trousers with riding boots to match. Her hair is pulled up in a loose twist, but the locks still catch the blaze of the sun, turning them into a stream of gold. The few white strands on her temples shine even brighter, as if purposely placed there to compliment her blouse, a usual sign of aging transformed into an emblem of her beauty. She has never looked more radiant; Hannibal takes in her flushed complexion and crystal bright eyes, gas flames flickering when she sees them. He immediately regrets having left her alone for so long. As if sensing his thoughts, both horses neigh in annoyance at having been left waiting. But the woman in the middle is perfectly composed, her affectionate stare moving to the petite girl rushing in her direction. She perches down, arms wide, ready to catch her, and Mira laughs loudly, falling into her embrace and hugging her tightly.

“I am sorry we have kept you waiting,” Hannibal apologises as soon as he joins them. Standing up, Bedelia offers them both a coy smile.

“I am sure there was a good reason,” she responds while Hannibal slips his free arm around her waist and places an adoring kiss on her temple.

“Papa was packing the basket,” Mira says matter-of-factly, yet to fully understand Hannibal’s penchant for scrupulous precision, even if she is already displaying similar proclivities.

Hannibal releases Bedelia from the embrace but not before spotting an amused grin passing by the corner of her mouth.

“But we are all ready to depart now,” he comments and sets to strap the basket to his saddle, with a large, folded blanket already in place there. As expected, the horse shakes his head, giving Hannibal a reproachable neigh at having been subjected to the extra ballast. “Yes, I know,” he secures the fixture and pats him on a side, then turns away to focus on the more precious load.

Mira’s little basket has already been hung on the side of Bedelia’s saddle, and she mounts her ride with practiced facility, one that never fails to make Hannibal’s blood rush faster. Mira looks up at him and he needs no further prompting; he leans forward, taking her in his arms, then lifts her higher, until her legs can reach over both sides of the saddle. She sits down with a satisfied smile and Bedelia takes over the careful embarkment as her daughter settles herself in her seat, one arm around her, making sure she sits securely and holds on tightly. Hannibal takes a moment to soak up the sight of them both, high up in all their beauty, with a panorama of the castle serving as their backdrop, right where they belong. Placing the image in the most treasured room in his mind, Hannibal mounts his own horse.

Bedelia sets off first and Hannibal is more than happy to follow her lead as they make their way towards the garden and into the forest. The sun continues to blaze vividly, bringing the last surge of summer, even though the foliage has begun to dress itself in colours of the next season, a rare moment of peaceful coexistence for both. A perfect day for a celebration, Hannibal reasons, smiling to himself as he watches Bedelia riding in front of him, her hair once again shining dazzlingly in the light flickering through the tops of the trees. Their exact destination is unknown to him, all part of Mira’s elaborate plan for a perfect picnic. He can hear Mira’s melodic voice, rising above the sounds of the forest, as she chats away with Bedelia, unable to contain her exhilaration. Bedelia’s pace is unhurried but sure of its way. The trees shield their continuous journey, almost leaning forward in silent reverence to their presence here.

Soon the pathway becomes narrower; it is a part of the forest Hannibal does not recognise but perhaps it just a momentary lapse in his perception as he focuses all his attention on what matters most. The trees grows denser still and a brief notion of worry at being lost settles in Hannibal’s mind. But he would never question Bedelia’s knowledge of the grounds. And just as the thought passes, so does the impenetrable foliage, suddenly giving way to a clearing. Hannibal is startled by the sudden change in scenery, but Bedelia and Mira seem perfectly accustomed to this topography. The glade is rather large, a grassy meadow guarded by the canopy of the surrounding trees, a peaceful haven for those who seek respite. Bedelia’s horse comes to a stop; they have reached their objective. Hannibal stops as well, his eyes surveying the area, still foreign to his mind. Suspending the contemplations until a later moment, he dismounts his horse and moves swiftly, ready to assist his ladies once again.

As he approaches Bedelia’s horse, he finds Mira’s hands already reaching out towards him with animation, the enthusiasm for the journey now giving way to eagerness to explore the glade. He takes Mira and sets her down slowly, all under Bedelia’s watchful gaze. He then offers her his hand, an assistance he knows she does not need, being more proficient in horse riding than him, but accepts nonetheless, both to his and Mira’s delight. She grasps his hand and dismounts with utter grace.

“ _Perfecto_ ,” Hannibal says, as if commenting on the choice of the location, but Bedelia knows better, eyes narrowing in amused appreciation.

“Here, Papa,” Mira dashes towards the side of the clearing, with Bedelia walking right behind her, the blue basket at ready, “This is the place.” She motions to a patch of grass under the biggest oak, its thick canopy like a green rooftop, sheltering the spot.

Hannibal removes the basket and the blanket from their straps, and follows dutifully, leaving their horses to graze and enjoy the well-deserved rest.

“It is wonderful,” he remarks, his vigilant eyes continuing to inspect the area. Mira beams brightly at his praise, thrilled to have made such a worthy choice.

Hannibal unfolds the blanket and places it in the precise spot indicated by Mira. He waits for her and Bedelia to take a seat before setting the basket down and opening it with a flourish, ready to attend to their needs, his host manners ever so impeccable, even if the meal is served on the ground in the middle of the woods. In an instant, plates and cups are set down on the cover, followed by the parade of treats, so carefully selected by his daughter. Each slice and each bake finds its rightful placement in an elegant arrangement with pieces of fruits transformed into petals of flowers, adorning the edge of the plates. Mira watches his compositions with an entranced gaze, and then empties her own basket, attempting to plate its contents in a similar manner. Hannibal feels a rush of warmth in his chest at the sight of her efforts, crease of her forehead betraying deep concentration as little fingers move the macaroons and shortbreads into a somehow flowery shape. Legs folded, Bedelia smiles widely from her spot, gleaming eyes showing her approval at having not one, but two experts cooks to spoil her now.

“Is everything to your liking?” Hannibal asks with all gravitas when Mira proudly pushes her plate to join the others.

“Yes,” Mira exclaims with delight, her eyes shining as she admires the feast, her idea made reality.

“I am glad,” Hannibal sits down next to Bedelia and Mira nestles between them, her favourite place to be.

“It looks marvellous,” Bedelia strokes her cheek with affection causing another burst of excitement reflected in Mira’s eyes, her mama’s approval being the final seal to a perfect day.

No further formalities needed, keen hand reaches for one of the sandwiches, and her parents join in. They enjoy their banquet in all its bountifulness with Mira insisting on them trying every piece. Once no delicacy is left untouched, most macaroons having long disappeared in Mira’s mouth, she abandons her safe spot and sets to traverse the clearing, fresh charge of energy needed to be spent.

Bedelia’s and Hannibal’s watchful eyes follow her departure, ensuring she does not venture too far. Once she settles on a point in the middle of the meadow, they both relax their vigilance. Hannibal’s attention turns to Bedelia; he watches as she takes the last raspberry macaroon and bites into it with gusto, red morsel between her lips like an offering at her alter, one she deemed worthy. She sighs in appreciation of the flavour, making Hannibal’s mouth water. She dabs her lips with a napkin before her hand reaches to adjust the loosening twist of her hair. Removing the pin, she lets the locks fall on her shoulder, eliciting a sudden surge of heat under his skin. Bedelia’s hand lingers on the nape of her neck, pressing against the tense knot, before gathering her hair anew and pulling them back up. Hannibal’s hand twitches as she secures the coil with her pin, eager to offer his assistance. The gesture is not lost on Bedelia; the corner of her mouth curves in amusement, her eyes narrowing in a silent _behave_. He obeys in an instant, the hand resting idly on his lap once more, at least for the afternoon.

“I do not remember being here before,” Hannibal notes instead, his mind once again surveying the map of their ride here.

“It was Mira’s discovery,” Bedelia says and Hannibal’s eyes sharpen in prompt alert at their daughter having gone so far away from the castle.

“We were riding together,” Bedelia addresses the unspoken dread and Hannibal’s face relaxes into a joyous smile, “And she insisted on exploring this narrow pathway.”

The forest has taken to them both it seems, unfolding treasures it has never shared with him; the notion makes his heart swell anew. He looks at his daughter in a distance, absorbed in finding last flowers of the season among the grass, her hair shining as bright as her mother’s against the green foliage. She turns and waves at them happily, then returns to her exploration. Hannibal’s breath catches in the back of this throat; the place might be unfamiliar to him, but the sight is not. A vision of his sister, ever so playful and equally adventurous, venturing through the forest, unfolds in his mind, like an old movie, blurred by repetition and softened by time. The memory drifts by as swiftly as it appeared, returning to its room in his mind, no longer dark and menacing, but Hannibal’s chest remains tight. He focuses on the image in front of him, his daughter now running towards the tree line, so vivid and radiant in all its hues, like no memory could ever be. A sudden trepidation of history repeating settles heavily in his heart.

_She cannot become just a memory._

Gentle hand rests on his and presses softly. Hannibal turns instantly, his eyes meeting Bedelia’s, staring back at him in caring concern, his thoughts unveiled on his face for her to read. Hannibal smiles, he could never hide anything from her, no matter how deeply buried.

“I am fine, Bedelia,” he returns the gesture, clasping her fingers, meaning every word. Her touch disperses the dread in his heart. He knows every brilliant shade of his life has been painted by her hand, its lustre safe under her charge.

They both look back at their daughter; she dashes across the meadow afresh, eyes wide, another magical sight taking hold of her endless imagination. But whichever fairy has caught her attention does not like to be followed; Mira’s head turns abruptly, she spins on a spot, losing her balance and falling on the ground. Hannibal gasps, icy shudder trickling down his spine, feeling as though his darkest thoughts have somehow become reality. He tenses in his spot, ready to spring forward and save his daughter from the invisible foe. Bedelia’s hand squeezes his once more, a wordless _leave her_ radiating through the tender gesture. His frown persists but his stance relaxes; he knows she is right. And soon enough, Mira stands up, tiny hands trying to brush off any specks of grass clinging to her clothes, equally amused and dazed by the happening. She looks up at her parents and smiles, as though anchoring herself in their presence. The warmth returns to Hannibal’s heart, the burn of his fierce protectiveness settling back to a soft flame. He inhales deeply, sensing the first gust of cold under the wavering heat. The passing of seasons makes him contemplate his own loses. He considers how he always tried to hold onto people and memories alike with force, never letting anything go, leaving bloody claw marks in his wake. And yet it amounted to nothing, leaving him more and more alone, the tighter he grasped and the longer he persisted. A strange moment of lucidity brings a sudden realization to his mind. Perhaps his grip has been so unyielding because it was unreturned. Because no one has ever held onto him.

_Until now._

He feels Bedelia’s reassuring touch lingering on his hand. Enveloping her hand, he pulls her closer and she moves to rest her back against his chest, head pressing beneath his chin. His arms enfold her further, sighing happily as her nose caresses the underside of his jaw. His eyes still follow his daughter’s play and, for once, he is content to just observe.

He can let them go, knowing they will never let go of him.

**Author's Note:**

> Mira courtesy of Lena/awayfromsight.  
> I had a prompt asking for a story where Hannibal and Bedelia take Mira on a bicycle trip and they have a picnic together to celebrate last days of summer. The bicycles were swapped for horses because they are nobility (and as the title tells you, I love playing with fairy tales vibes). This was meant to be a drabble at most, but my muse had a different idea. Let me know what you think. Thank you for reading, it means a lot to me! Stay safe ♥


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